


String

by TheWalkingBucky



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingBucky/pseuds/TheWalkingBucky
Summary: Request: Could you do a one shot where Daryl finds his girlfriend back in Alexandria and it gets super emotional and he asks her to marry him?





	String

You’d been staying in Alexandria for a couple of weeks now, with what little remained of your original group. A couple of your friends had settled into this old suburbia routine straight away, but you’d never been a picket fence kind of girl. The walls made you uneasy; this whole place felt too good to be true. Free houses, running water, _solar freakin’ electricity._ At least when you were out in the wild you were in control. You knew who your enemies were because they were _everyone._ Now you were stuck in some alien world with dinner parties and pasta makers. It was just as foreign to you now as it had been in the beginning.

So when Aaron showed up with a bunch of newcomers who were being funnelled into two of the houses right across the street from you, your whole group was on edge. The Alexandrians were closeted – they had no idea how dangerous people had become. Far more dangerous than the dead.

This group in particular looked even more feral than _your_ group had upon arrival. The person you guessed was the leader looked half-mad with his overgrown beard and intense eyes. Holding a baby on his hip didn’t make him look any less insane. Following him was a woman with a samurai sword, a kid in a sheriff’s hat, a huge ginger bulldog who looked like someone had brought a G.I. Joe doll to life and… was that a _priest?!_

“What do you think?” Tommy asked from behind you, kissing your shoulder as he joined you at the window. You’d picked Tommy up in a brewery just outside of Durham, trying to drink himself to death after he lost his sister and nephew. It could’ve hardened him and made him cruel but it did the opposite. He was needy, too soft for this world and he’d taken it upon himself to shower the entire group with affection at every opportunity. None of you were complaining. Sometimes he was the only thing stopping you from going mad.

“I think they’re more messed up than we are,” you answered, as an older woman from their group caught you staring and waved at you with a polite smile. She looked even softer than Tommy. You forced a smile back but couldn’t bring yourself to wave like some suburban neighbour preparing for the next bake sale. But your forced smile became genuine when you saw a man trailing behind with a dead possum in one hand. “Except for him. He looks pretty sens–”

The word died in your mouth when you saw the crossbow draped over his back. You recognised the shape. The green and white fletching at the end of the arrows. Logic told you that his crossbow wasn’t unique. Thousands of people probably had that exact same crossbow. But logic didn’t stop you from running out onto the porch and calling out his name.

_“Daryl?!”_

Your heart was in your throat. You wanted the moment before he turned around to stretch out as long as it could because while you couldn’t see his face, it still might be him.

But it was over in an instant. He’d recognise your voice anywhere.

“Y/N?”

He dropped the possum to the ground and pulled his crossbow off his shoulders, abandoning them both in the street as he ran for you. You hadn’t even made it down the steps before he swept you off them and crashed his mouth against yours. His lips were rough and dry, just like yours had been before you had water on tap. You couldn’t tell if he was shaking or if it was you, but when you finally separated for air you realised it was both. He took your face in his hands, crying as he looked over every inch of you. He looked like he’d been through hell. The loudmouth redneck you knew was dead and all that was left was the man underneath. The man you’d fallen for, who only showed himself when Merle was out drinking and you were alone in his bedroom. This new world had given him the space to grow.

“Thought you were dead,” he choked out, voice breaking from the effort. You wrapped your arms around him and he rested his head on your shoulder.

“I got out,” you whispered against him. “Should’ve known you’d survive.”

He laughed at that and pulled back to look at you again. He’d never been so openly affectionate with you before and you’d _certainly_ never seen him cry. You didn’t have to second-guess how he felt about you for once. You could see it – he loved you as much as you’d always loved him.

“Where’s Merle?” you asked. Daryl flinched and shook his head. “Crap, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright. He was an asshole.”

“Yeah, but you loved him.”

“Daryl,” a man called out from behind him. The bearded one. Daryl wiped his eyes and took your hand as he turned back to his group.

“This is Y/N. She was my…”

You couldn’t help grinning. At least there was one familiar thing about him. He was still awkward as hell. “We were together. Before,” you explained on his behalf.

Daryl introduced the man as Rick, who continued to stare you down. He should. Everyone had done things since the world went to hell and you were no exception. No one was the same as they were before.

_Except maybe that creepy priest._

Daryl didn’t seem to care though and neither did you. He held your hand throughout the whole tour of Alexandria, like if he let you go you might vanish. You even had to stand outside Deanna’s house when it was Daryl’s turn to be interviewed, so he could keep looking out the window to check you were still there. As soon as he was finished his hand found yours again, like a child afraid to get separated from their parents. It wasn’t until night fell and you had to go your separate ways that he let go of you.

“I gotta stay with my group,” was the only explanation he gave. You understood. You needed to stay with yours too.

That night he didn’t get any sleep. As if being in a new place surrounded by strangers wasn’t bad enough, knowing you were right across the street from him was unbearable. He remembered nights he’d long since tried to forget; nights where you snuck into his room without Merle knowing just so he could sleep beside you without his brother trying to listen for free porn.

It was the middle of the night when he finally left the house and made the short walk to your door. He waited outside. Was he supposed to knock? This was a house with a door and a fancy one at that. He felt like he should knock. But if he knocked he’d wake up everyone inside. Life was so much easier when you could just walk into the next cell without worrying.

Before he could decide, you opened the door. You hadn’t been able to sleep either, praying to hear his footsteps on your porch. You didn’t feel right disturbing his group on their first night. If someone had done that to you, you would’ve had your gun out in a second. But that didn’t stop you hoping that he’d come to you.

Daryl was silent for a moment, like he still couldn’t believe he was really seeing your face. You shut the door quietly behind you and waited for him to speak. Of all the things you’d expected to come out of his mouth, this wasn’t it.

“Marry me.”

“…What?”

“Marry me,” he repeated, like you didn’t need an explanation.

“Are you…” _serious?_ Yeah, he looked pretty damn serious. “Since when were you the marrying type?”

“I ain’t the same as back then. I ain’t gon lose you again Y/N. I need—”

His voice cut out. Daryl was always full of emotion and never dared to let it out. He showed it in other ways, like attempting to cook or picking wildflowers. Or, apparently, proposing in the dead of night.

“I need you too.”

“That a yes?” he asked, ever the romantic. He held something out in the palm of his hand. It was a piece of string, tied into a circle and wrapped around itself in an attempt to look pretty. He’d tied a piece of string into an engagement ring for you.

Now it was your turn to cry.

“That’s a yes,” you laughed and so did he, a disbelieving half-laugh, half-sob. Neither of you noticed the eyes of your groups fixed on you as he pushed the knotted string onto your finger. “It ain’t much.”

You leaned in to kiss him and he took your face in both hands, fingers brushing your hair and messing it up. There was no lip biting or clawing tonight, just the kind of romance born from a deep contentedness. You pressed your forehead against his, pulling your lips away from him just enough to speak.

“It’s perfect Daryl.”


End file.
